Coming
by PencilChewer
Summary: James has a nightmare.


**Disclaimer: Not Jo.**

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He was falling. And no one was catching him. It was a long, endless fall of misery and depression, full of sorrow and tears, and he was falling in it. There was some groping on the way down, as if there were hands catching on to any limb of his. It was as if they were warning him, giving him precaution that if he kept going, the fall will keep going as well. But he couldn't stop. He kept falling, thrashing in the air, his legs flailing and arms shaking, and eyes widening.

And then he hit the ground.

It was a soft hit, graceful even. It was as if he wasn't even falling, as if he was flying. And then suddenly he stopped, and his feet hit the ground.

He looked around, trying to make something clear of the dense fog. It whipped around him, clutching at his ankles and tugging him forward, as if there were hands made of the fog around him. It was pulling and pushing and groping him forward, towards someplace unknown. He kept looking around, his eyes wide but hardly seeing anything as the fog tugged him further.

Then as suddenly as the fog had caught him, it cleared up, and he stopped.

He looked around again, this time seeing but wishing he wasn't seeing. Bodies were askew across the floor, limp and disabled. Some were gasping for air, pleading with the sky above them to give them their life back and they'll fix their mistakes or just hoping it would end, fast and painless.

And there were whispers. Whispers of helplessness and pleads and full of cries.

He moved forward, straining his eyes on the bodies around him, trying to identify them. He crouched down at a near body of a small man, though his hair and clothes were caked with mud and dirt, he could recognize that face anywhere.

It was his father.

He gave a sharp intake of breath and scrambled away from the body, eyes wide again and heart thumping erratically in his chest. It couldn't be. It wasn't true.

"Oh but it is..." a voice hissed inside his head and around him, coming from the never ending sky, the unbound sides.

"Who are you? What do you want?" James demanded, standing up and looking around him.

"I'm your worst nightmare. Haven't you always dreamed of the dead? The undead? The living? Well, Mr. James Potter, I am all," the voice hissed. It was a cold and rasp sound, as if every word he uttered was a slither of tongue and it made James shudder.

"Let me out of here! What do you want? What are you doing? Where are you? Show yourself!" James shouted again, clenching his fists despite the shudders and shivers he was encountering. His own body seemed to reject anything his mind was telling him. _Run_, _take your wand from your pocket, defend yourself._

"Ah, too many questions, my dear boy. I cannot let you out, you are in your own mind. _You_ have to let yourself out..."

"What do you mean? What are you talking about? Show yourself! I want to know who's talking! Where are you talking from?"

"I have one thing to ask you," the voice began again, ignoring James' demands.

"I'm not going to take orders from a voice! Show yourself!"

"Look around and identify. Do you recognize any one of these _corpses_? Once you do, then you can find a way out," the voice instructed.

James looked around again, deciding if he wanted to get out, he would have to at least look around and find a way out.

He looked up at the sky again before walking around, fog greeting him again as he made his way towards a different body. This time, it was of a woman. Small, delicate features, half her chest covered in a red thick liquid that made James blanch. He pressed his hand to her face so he could turn it his way. He blinked before yelling and scrambling away from the body of his mother, her eyes open but far away from seeing.

"What did you do? Where are you? Let me out!" he yelled, his hands in his hair and clutching at the nape of his neck. "Let me out!"

"I cannot. For you are in your head, as I said before. The only one to let you out is yourself," the voice answered, calmly and unshaken. Just the opposite of James, as he was sobbing and turning over every body he saw.

It was Sirius, the everlasting smirk still upon his face

Remus now, seeming peaceful and content, not a trace of murder or death etched on his scarred face.

Peter, eyes closed and lips blue.

And then as if dying from the same cause of Remus, eyes open this time just like his mother, lips parted, Lily.

"Lily," he whispered, laying both hands on her cheeks. "Lily. What have you done with her? What have you done with _them_?"

"I haven't done anything with them. You see, you are in your sleep, a nightmare if you wish. I am only obliging to what your fears tell me," the voice said, this time it was closer, as if the sky was falling or his surrounding suddenly had boundaries.

"Show yourself! Who are you? What do you want from me?" James stood up, wiping his cheeks impatiently and looking around, turning and turning and staring into the clear white fog in the dark grey area.

"I... am Lord Voldemort," the voice replied and James stopped turning and watched as the fog disappeared in a hiss and a tall man appeared, his black wardrobe mixing in with the grey surroundings.

James swallowed, staring at the man as he approached, his eyes slits instead of pupils and an unusual color of red. His face was pale, so pale, it was as if he was made of dirty snow, the kind you'd find on a sidewalk by the street

The man, Lord Voldemort, raised his hand, and said, "I'm relieving you of your misery, Mr. Potter. We will meet again." And he flicked his wand and all James saw was a flash of green, red, gold, white, and grey light.

And he was sitting bolt upright in his bed, his shirt sticking to his chest and back and his hair plastered on his forehead and his eyes wide. His shoulders were shaking and his cheeks were wet and he was sobbing and he looked around and found Lily, sleeping there in content, a cocoon of blankets around her. She took in steady breaths, each time the hair fallen on her face flew into the air, suspended by her breath, and then falling back down onto her face.

James stood up, running a hand through his hair and shoving his glasses onto his face before making his way down the small hallway of their small house in Godric's Hollow, his mind reeling with the bodies, the nightmare, the man. He walked into the kitchen and opened a cabinet just above the skin and pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey he kept there. He opened it and took a long pull, the substance burning down his throat and into his system.

"Bad dream again?" Lily appeared at the door, her arms wrapped around herself, and her hair disheveled as she stared at him through her groggy state. He nodded at her and patted the counter of the kitchen sink beside him, making her waddle towards him and prop herself up on it. Her legs swung and hit the cabinet underneath her as she watched James take another chug from the bottle.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, tugging the bottle out of his hand and taking a sip.

James shook his head and placed both hands on the counter beside her, staring into the window above the sink.

"He's coming, Lily._ Him_," he told her, his voice harsh even to him. "He's hunting us down."

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**Author's note: No idea what this is, but since I've been somewhat experiencing the same thing, my friend told me to write about it and this is what came out. Review?**


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